


whatever you say

by dCryptid



Category: Borderlands
Genre: POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3554579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dCryptid/pseuds/dCryptid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is just me playing with someone else's toys.</p><p>additional characters to be added in conjunction with pertinent content</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. lo que tú digas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I've been wanting to work on writing character interactions in general, and being somewhat unwilling to experiment with my own characters I decided to use my favorite franchise for practice.
> 
> all parts are post-Borderlands 2, roughly chronological, extremely rich in bullshit personal headcanons that I will generally refuse to apologize for, and involve a lot of leadup but go absolutely nowhere. you've been fairly warned.
> 
> EDIT: I decided I really hated my original take on the first half of this first chapter enough to rewrite it. so I did that, and now it's less full of shitty awful headcanons. if you read the first version I sincerely apologize because it was trash. if you did not read the first version, feel blessed.

The current situation was honestly more than a little bit strange to think about. Sirens were famed across the universe, revered by many and feared by more - gorgeous, powerful, ethereal, and mysterious. The extent of their powers was unfathomable, their origins were unexplainable, and the fact that only six of them existed at any given time gave them an exoticism that verged on the legendary.

And Mordecai had two of them living in the same house as him, as well as the honor of calling one an extremely close friend.

It was hard to believe that over five years had passed since he’d stepped onto that bus to be greeted by a slender, tattooed girl with sparkling eyes and a killer smile - which happened to be an extremely apt descriptor, as he soon discovered. She’d been sharp and deadly, quick to learn and quicker to put her knowledge to use, and though Mordecai hadn’t known much about Sirens he came to understand that the rumors about them were not rumors at all.

They hadn’t gotten along immediately. He’d been prickly, angry at a universe that he felt had cheated him, keeping everyone at an arm’s length during his quest to seek out what he was owed. She’d been frustrated, trying to adapt to a world where batting her eyelashes or flashing her tattoos did not always get her what she wanted, thirsty for knowledge and going wild whenever she came up against a wall that stopped her from obtaining it. It had been grating, for a while, the sparks flying whenever the steel of their personalities clashed, but one day she’d knocked a bandit flying with the force of her phaseblast and he’d put a well-timed sniper round through the man’s skull while he was still in the air. He’d turned to give her praise and a smile, only to find the same for him already on her lips. He’d gone to sleep that night with her small frame curled scorchingly hot against his spine, back to back, and from the next day on they were unstoppable.

It wasn’t until they’d found some semblance of society, in the form of New Haven, that it became clear that things were not as shiny as they could be. Beer and rakk ale were far too abundant in the bandit encampments, an inescapable temptation, and the nights where Mordecai passed out cold and woke up hurting became more and more frequent. Lilith’s struggle was less overt, but eventually Mordecai understood that she was lonely. The friendship that the four of them shared - he and her and Brick and Roland - was one thing, but the kind of companionship that came with skin and friction was another altogether, and that was the kind she was missing.

Most of the people they met were scared shitless of her, though, unwilling to approach a Siren even before the lure of what would probably be the best sex of their lives. She’d gotten strung up tighter and tighter, throwing herself into developing her powers and finding out all she could about Pandora in the hopes that it would lead her to her own origins. She was desperate for a distraction, and Mordecai had pitied her; at least his fix was easy to find.

Even after they’d overcome the hurdle that was the Vault and settled down for good in New Haven, things hadn’t been easy. She’d liked Roland, always had, but he was frustratingly restrained and she was explosively impatient. Mordecai didn’t know the details, but apparently it had taken some incredibly overt actions on her part to convince the soldier that she was into him, and that she would really be quite pleased if he reciprocated. At first, Mordecai had wondered why she’d fixated on him, out of all the people, but eventually he’d gotten sober enough to realize that in Roland being her antithesis, he was everything she needed; solid, stable, reliable, honest, good. Good when she’d never felt like she was quite deserving of the same title.

Eventually it had worked out between them, and Mordecai had never seen her glow like she did then. Her luminance had been enough to pull him up out of the booze-soaked hole he’d dug for himself, and the four of them began to build a safe place on the dangerous planet that had brought them all together.

But nothing ever lasted. He went back to the drink, deep, nursing a broken heart, and by the time he started to come back up to the surface New Haven had fallen and everything had fallen apart with it. They’d been set up in Sanctuary for a full two months before he was able to realize that Lilith had lost her glow. Eventually she’d disappeared, out to Frostburn, upholding the myth of her death, and he’d gone to see her whenever he’d been stable enough to make the journey. The discovery of the powers that Eridium gave her seemed to bring her back to him, at least for a while, the hope of discovery and the excitement of new abilities making her bubble over with life and energy. But the last time he’d shown up at her door she’d refused to see him, feeling guilty and isolated and God knows what else for God knows what reasons. He’d left, headed out to the tundra, and it had been weeks before he came back up for air.

Now, Mordecai looked down at the glass in his hands. Water, of course; he was serious about raising Talon right and refused to let himself slip.

Lilith’s salvation came in the new Vault Hunters, most notably the stately, pale-eyed Siren, her arm wrapped with tattoos that were so much like and unlike Lilith’s that it dizzied his addled mind. When he’d finally rolled back into Sanctuary, mouth dry as a desert and Bloodwing clinging to his shoulder, Lilith was waiting for him, but he shook the apology right off her lips when he swept her up into a hug.

He’d been sitting in the corner, watching, when she’d finally cornered the younger Siren. The conversation had been too hushed for him to overhear, but Maya had looked uncertain until Lilith had grabbed her hands and whispered something in her ear, and her eyes had grown wide before she nodded and her mouth formed an _okay_. Then they both shot him somewhat startled looks and scampered off, though Mordecai would swear there had been a smile in Lilith’s eyes.

“She understands,” she’d told him a few days later, seated on the war table with her feet swinging in the air. “What it’s like to be a Siren, I mean. It’s more than powers, more than tattoos...it’s how people treat you. What they think of you.” She’d shrugged. “Shared experiences, I guess, and we both know we could never view each other the same way people view us.”

It wasn’t a relationship - Mordecai figured she was still far too raw for that, and would be for a long time to come - but they spent a lot of time in each other’s company, helping each other better understand their powers and presumably spending a fair amount of time in Moxxi’s back rooms. Lilith was glowing again (sometimes literally), and Mordecai couldn’t help but crack a grin every time she wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

Though Maya had been raised in a monastery, she wasn’t any shade of restrained or prudish - “there was always some novice on hand who didn’t have too many qualms about corrupting his goddess,” in her own words - and in each other’s company they thrived, driven by a mutual thirst for knowledge and and physical affection.

The Vault Hunters had rolled in about an hour ago, and Lilith had taken the time to be debriefed before shooting a meaningful glance at Maya and winking out of existence, presumably off to Moxxi’s to be debriefed in an entirely different way. Mordecai was perched on a chair he’d dragged out onto the balcony, and was watching Talon circle above Sanctuary’s rooftops. The bloodwing was growing up fast, and already he could soar for a solid half-hour without tiring.

Below him, he could hear the distant murmur of voices as the Vault Hunters unwound in the downstairs room, swapping friendly barbs and laughter, but a pop and hiss in the room directly behind Mordecai alerted him to a much closer presence.

He peeked back over his shoulder to see Salvador, holding a freshly opened bottle of rakk ale in one hand and a sealed one in the other. He came out onto the balcony, so short that Mordecai was almost of a height with him even while seated, and squinted out over the railing.

Mordecai apprehensively eyed the unopened bottle. “Relax, _amigo_ , they’re both for me,” Salvador said, and let out a short chuckle before leaning against the railing and taking a swig. “You seen Lil?”

Mordecai bit back a sharp retort, something he’d found himself doing more and more since he stopped drinking. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much when other people called her Lil - it wasn’t like he had a patent on the nickname, but dammit did he want one. “Off with Maya,” he said, as evenly as possible.

Salvador rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “Sirens.” He took another drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Kinda wish one of ‘em would dare to take a pass at someone else, for once, not gonna lie.”

“It works for them, and I ain’t interested in stepping on any toes, especially when the owners of said toes could melt my face off,” Mordecai replied. The idea of Salvador making a move on either Siren was laughable - even Lilith, petite as she was, had at least a good three inches on the dwarflike man, and though Maya wasn’t much taller she had a stately, imposing air that gave her at least another bonus half-foot.

Salvador sniffed, a little derisively. “You ever take a run at that?” he asked. “At Lilith, I mean, before we got here.”

“Once or twice.” It wasn’t a lie - sometimes, back before they’d opened that first Vault, when he’d been deep in his cups and she’d decided to join him, her loneliness had risen to the surface and the whole world had just seemed too unfair for him to handle. He loved her in the wrong kind of ways for it to work, as a friend and a partner and a force of nature, but he loved her all the same and he was determined to do something to comfort her. She’d only taken him up on that offer a handful of times, reluctant to damage their friendship for the sake of some baser desires, and most of those times he’d been too far gone in the drink to have any hope of getting it up anyway. “I couldn’t keep up with her. I’ve been too old for a girl like that for years.”

Salvador let out a raucous belly laugh, followed promptly by a belch. “No such thing as too old, man!”

“You try her, then. I’ve only got a couple years on you. Girl’s made of razor wire, she just tears you apart.”

“You, maybe.” Salvador’s eyes twinkled. “But in case you haven’t noticed, I’m made of tougher stuff.”

Mordecai curled his lip in a soundless snarl, resisting the urge to call Talon down to rip Salvador’s stupid beard right off his face. Most of the time, he was happy to have someone who spoke the language around, but Salvador could sometimes be a dick.

No, scratch that. Most of the time Salvador was a dick, and cursing is really more fun when no one can understand what you’re screaming.

Salvador drained his first rakk ale and used the edge of the railing to pop the top of the second. “Doesn’t it ever seem dangerous to you, though?” he asked, and Mordecai was thrown by the sudden change in tone.

“I don’t follow.”

“The two of them.” Salvador jerked his head in the general direction of Moxxi’s place. “I mean, we all know what they’re capable of alone, and we’ve seen what they can do together. What happens if they get a little out of control and…” He gestured expansively. “Black hole, or something. Boom.”

“They’re not _idiots_ , Sal,” Mordecai snapped. “And I think they’ve got a good enough grip on their own powers to not destroy everything just because they’re getting _fucked_.”

Salvador shrugged off the bile in Mordecai’s tone. “You never know, _amigo_. They can be unpredictable. What’s the word... _volátil_.” He drank deeply as Mordecai seethed.

“All I’m saying,” Salvador continued, swallowing, “is that maybe it’d be safer if they took a pass at someone else. And I’m sure most of us wouldn’t object.”

And then the fucker had the nerve to wink at Mordecai, and he was done. “If you like your face in one piece, I suggest you get it out of my sight,” he threatened, and Salvador sighed and rolled his broad shoulders away from the railing.

“We ain’t blind, ‘Cai. Or stupid.”

“And I don’t think you’ve been around here long enough to make sense of what you’re seeing,” Mordecai snarled, daring the man in front of him to press his luck further, daring him to try to make more claims about things he knew _nothing_ about.

Salvador shrugged, strolling back into the building at an unconcerned pace, smoothly denying the invitation to conflict and leaving Mordecai fuming in his wake. “ _Lo que tú digas_ ,” he threw back over his shoulder. Whatever you say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oddly, this first parts breaks the rules I established for the later parts, in reference to point-of-view and character carryover, but whatever. 
> 
> brief explanation: [REMOVED BECAUSE OF EDITS DUE TO FORMERLY-MENTIONED BULLSHIT]. It also gives me the opportunity to destroy "innocent clueless virgin Maya" as a concept because girlfriend is curious and strong-willed and rebellious as heck. Mordecai is an excellent bird-dad, even if he is the king grump. I always imagined the first group of Vault Hunters having a strong emotional connection to each other, platonic in most cases, that the newer crew of Vault Hunters doesn't necessarily understand. Everything is vague and Salvador is a dick.
> 
> I have a lot of Borderlands 1 nostalgia and I refuse to feel bad about it.
> 
> also I don't know Spanish (which is fucking stupid because my entire point of writing this piece was to have Sal say "whatever you say" in Spanish at the end and then I got to the end and was like "I'm an idiot I took German in high school"), so if anyone has a better translation for Sal's parting words I'd really appreciate it.
> 
> The second part has been written (as of now I actually have like...almost five parts written, oops) but I'm just sitting on it cause I'm a nerdlord senior with major uncertainties regarding my own work. Eventually it shall be posted.


	2. shower hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no electric boogaloo in part two. just skinny bitches taking a shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the pattern I am trying to work with is actually more established in this part, though it's not obvious. I intend for every (playable) character to be involved in two parts, one from the perspective of another character and one from their own perspective, but since I didn't have that figured out when I wrote the first part, Mordecai is special and gets two whole chapters from his point of view.
> 
> so this bit has Gaige in it. it's also the very definition of "starts somewhere, does not go where you want or expect."

The hot water blasted his back, sloughing away the dirt that had accumulated there, and Mordecai sighed, relaxing back into the spray.

On Pandora, showers always felt like a luxury, even when you were lucky enough to be able to take one just about whenever you wanted. Even though most of the planet was fairly arid, there were plenty of biomes that were rich in water, and Sanctuary had enormous reservoirs and a built-in purification system, presumably for the benefit of the Dahl miners that had previously inhabited it. All they had to do was drop down to a low altitude over a body of water, lower the hoses, and fire up the pumps. The reservoirs were big enough to hold enough water for the whole city to use for a solid two weeks before it needed to resupply.

They’d just tanked up yesterday, and the water spitting out of the showerhead was fresh. After a while of sitting in the tanks, the water always started to get stale, gaining a metallic taste that even the filtration couldn’t remove, but when they had just been topped off it was as clean and clear as anyone could hope for on a planet like this.

Mordecai had been away from the city for almost a week, out in the tundra tracking rumors of an enormous varkid that had been wreaking havoc on the isolated settlements out that way. “MOTHER EFFER WAS THE SIZE OF A HONEY-LOVIN TRAIN,” in Tina’s words, but he’d seen no sign of the creature, and Talon was still too young to track it effectively. So he’d come back to Sanctuary empty-handed and headed straight to the showers, desperate to scrub the mud and sweat from his windburned body. Nowadays, he had no idea how he’d lived out in the tundra for as long as he had, but figured the fact that he’d been swimmingly drunk the whole time had something to do with it.

The showers were in the back of the Crimson Raiders HQ, part of a long locker room space that had served as facilities for whatever people had occupied the building previously. When the Vault Hunters had first set up shop, none of the showerheads were working, but Lilith had convinced Scooter to make fixing them a priority. A couple of them didn’t work consistently, but on a good day HQ had eight functional showers, even if not all of them produced hot water.

The only thing that could be considered bad about the whole setup was that there was only one locker room, and none of the shower stalls had doors. Lilith had attempted to rig a curtain across the opening of one of the end stalls, but the dividing wall had collapsed and she’d stormed off cursing up a blue streak as Brick wondered if it still counted as eight showers, or if they were down to seven. Either way, he was happy to have a new, larger stall to use.

Really, the layout wasn’t a problem. You saw plenty of other people’s bodies on Pandora - inside and out - and it was hard to be concerned about a little nudity once you’d seen someone’s brains or guts come out of a hole you’d just put in them. Made you realize that there were more important things to worry about keeping out of sight than your skin.

Mordecai sighed and scratched at his scalp, debating whether or not he wanted to wash his dreadlocks. He usually just dealt with the grit because they took forever to wash and dry, but today he decided that it was worth the effort. He tugged at the tie that held them back until it came loose, and the heavy locs tumbled down.

It felt a little odd to have them free after they’d been pulled up for so long, and he shook them out, feeling them scrape across his bare shoulders and tug his follicles in unfamiliar directions. He groped for the small chunk of soap he usually kept hidden among his belongings - while water wasn’t scarce, detergents were, and he swore that Tannis had a sixth sense for finding soap. Whenever someone complained about theirs going missing, she always showed up squeaky clean and full of denials.

He’d just started scrubbing at his chest, letting the spray soak his dreads before he took on the task of washing them, when the swinging door to the locker room opened forcefully enough to bang against the wall. He jumped at the sound, the soap nearly slipping from his grasp. Headquarters had been totally empty when he’d come in here, so he hadn’t expected any company. He peered around the edge of the shower stall, wondering who else had decided they needed a shower in the middle of the day.

A cheery, off-tune whistling drifted around the corner of the bank of lockers blocking Mordecai’s view of the door, followed closely by Gaige. She was absolutely coated in grease from pigtails to hi-tops, like she’d rolled around in Deathtrap’s robotic innards, and Mordecai had no trouble inferring why she’d come in here. She gave him a bright smile when she saw him. “Hi Mordy!”

“Hiya, chica,” he replied, and withdrew back behind the stall divider and began working soap under his fingernails. So much for a nice, private shower. The whistling picked back up, and he heard several soft thumps as she discarded things onto the floor - presumably her clothes - and then the whistling began to draw closer.

He turned his back as she approached, giving her nothing to look at but his thick swath of dreadlocks and skinny hips should she decide to come down this way. Nudity didn’t bother him, but Gaige was the exception. She was barely eighteen and looked it, with her schoolgirl skirt and slender limbs, and even the robotic arm couldn’t ruin the impression of illicit youth. He was practically a dad now, assuming that birds counted as children, and it didn’t feel right to have his pants off around someone half his age. He turned up the heat, hoping to generate a bit more steam.

He realized he was going to have to turn around at some point in order to properly wash his hair. The showers were divided into two rows of four, facing towards the narrow aisle that ran between them, and hopefully she decided to take one of the stalls adjacent to the one he currently occupied, where the dividing walls would block line of sight.

No such luck. He glanced over his shoulder to see her headed for the big stall - the one created by Lilith’s interior-decorating mishap - which happened to be directly across from the stall he currently occupied. Damn.

She was thin, all stretched skin and prominent bones, hips and clavicle sharp as knives, with barely enough fat on her to create the suggestion of breasts and hips. _Skinny like you_ , nagged his inner voice, but he shook it off, taking the opportunity to scrub down his groin and thighs while she was occupied with fiddling with the shower knobs.

He heard a hiss as one head turned on, then some swearing and scraping noises as the other apparently refused to work. He turned around to see her banging on the wall, furiously, until the appliance burst to life with a forceful spray of water that made her yelp and jump.

“Fuck, that’s cold!” Hurriedly, she messed with the knobs, but when it was apparent that she was only going to get cold water out of one, she turned the other one all the way up to hot and angled the heads towards each other so the streams crossed. “Perfect,” she sighed as she stuck her head into the spray.

“Why d’you gotta use both?” Mordecai asked her as she straightened up and began working the water into her grease-streaked hair, her lean body stretched out unabashedly.

Apparently, she could roll her eyes even when they were closed. “Because I _want_ to, that’s why,” she said, not ill-naturedly. She didn’t seem to adverse to getting her robotic arm wet, and Mordecai wondered how well waterproofed it was as began scrubbing down his dreads with the soap, dust and dirt coming loose and darkening the water that streamed down his arms.

“So what’ve you been up to, dude?” Gaige asked conversationally, relaxing back into the hot spray and cupping her hands under the cold one. The dark grease marks on her arms and legs added an odd, graphic definition to her limbs, like someone had traced her outline in ink.

Mordecai worked the lather on his scalp down through each individual dreadlock, trying to free as much of the grit caught up in them as possible. “I was out at the Express,” he said. “You heard about that big varkid, right? The one the bandits have been calling Vermivorous?”

“Hell yeah, man, Tina won’t shut up about the thing! Why didn’t you tell me you were going after it? Did you kill it? Was it awesome?”

Mordecai couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm, forgetting about how awkward he felt for just a moment. “Didn’t think I’d need any help with it, so I went alone, but-”

“It _totally_ kicked your ass, didn’t it?” Gaige’s smile was wide and more than a tiny bit vicious.

“ _No_ , it did _not_ ,” Mordecai replied emphatically, “because I didn’t even manage to find it.”

“Awe, lame! Then why’d you tell me about it?”

“You asked what I had been doing, and I told you. You’re the one who came to your own crazy conclusions.” Mordecai finished working the soap through his last dread and leaned back into the spray of his own shower. The water was starting to cool down, but he didn’t mind. It felt pretty nice.

Gaige made a rude face at him, somewhat ruined by the wet hair that was sticking to her cheeks. “I’ll come with you next time that ugly bugger shows his face. DT and I will fuck ‘im up real good for ya.” She flexed her skinny arms, jokingly, but Mordecai’s laugh was cut short when he caught a glimpse under the shoulder cap of her robotic arm.

She’d done a good job of designing the thing to be as comfortable on the eyes as possible, having added a curved plate that covered the actual attachment point between her body and the mechanics, but the skin underneath was puckered and scarred, pulled taut and studded with unidentifiable electronics.

And she’d done that to _herself_. Easy to forget that the tiny girl was tough as they come and crazier than the rest of them put together, including Maya’s big psycho pet.

“Shit, I forgot my soap,” she said, frowning. “Can I borrow yours?”

Mordecai looked at the meager chunk of soap in his hand, then up at her and the thick stripes of grease that covered her body. There was even one right across her chest, which he was pretty sure had been covered up by her shirt when she first came in. He decided he didn’t really want to know how it had gotten there.

Sighing, he stepped forward into the aisle between the showers, steadying himself against the wall as he reached out and pressed the soap into her outstretched hand. “You owe me,” he told her.

She beamed at him, wrapping her thin fingers around the lump. “Course, man. Just bring me a fat bandit corpse and I’ll whip you up a few bars, Fight Club style.” She winked at him, and he had no idea if she was joking or not.

“So what have you been up to?” Mordecai asked, carefully rinsing out each one of his locs individually. They were starting to feel a little loose near the scalp; it had been a while since he gave them the attention they really needed. He gave each one a careful roll between his palms as he rinsed, taking his time.

“Just working on giving DT a tune-up,” she said, which immediately explained the grease; she _had_ been rolling around in the robot’s innards. “Then Scooter asked me to help him with his cars - I guess he’s interested in installing an electrobolt on his technicals, or something? So I was trying to help him with that, but the technicals seriously do not have the power structure to support energy weaponry.”

“Mmhmm.” Mordecai wasn’t really listening, just using the babble of her voice as a counterpoint to the rush of water over his ears as he tipped his head back into the spray.

“So we thought, instead of redoing the whole battery system, which would take forever, why don’t we just drop an E-tech railgun on the thing? But then he wandered off somewhere, and I thought hey, that’s something DT doesn’t have yet… Long story short, Deathtrap shoots spiker darts now, in whatever flavor I want.” She beamed at him, soap streaming down her slender body, the strike of the water on her chest sending up a fine mist across her face.

“Sounds pretty sweet,” he said, slinging his dreads over his shoulder and beginning to wring the water out of them, knowing he needed to get them dry but reluctant to leave the warmth of the shower.

She paused in the midst of washing the grease stripe off her chest and made an odd face at him. “You still look weird to me without your goggles,” she said critically.

“And you look weird without your clothes,” Mordecai retorted without thinking, and immediately regretted it.

“Hey! What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, trying to play it off. “Nothing. Just not used to it, is all.”

Her delicate features twisted into a scowl. “Not used to it,” she said, tilting her hips and planting her hands on them, “or you don’t like what you see?”

Mordecai felt a sudden weariness descend on him, weariness that had nothing to do with a week spent in the tundra or a lifetime of traveling between stars. He turned off the water, missing the heat almost immediately. “Gaige, don’t. I didn’t mean anything by it, honest.”

“Like hell,” she pouted, her eyes narrowing. Someone had once mentioned that they were green, but he couldn’t tell. “We’re both adults, there’s nothing wrong with-”

“Actually,” he cut her off, “you’re a kid. Someone has to be, and seeing as you’re the youngest one around...” He shrugged, reaching for the threadbare towel draped over the dividing wall. “And I’m twice your age, so let’s not make this any weirder than it has to be."

Her mouth dropped open and snapped shut as he wrapped the towel around his hips, never before so grateful for so little coverage. She crossed her arms over her chest, shielding herself.

“I’m not the youngest! Deathtrap is younger than me!” she snapped, affronted. “ _Claptrap_ is younger than me!”

He had to choke down a laugh at that, though a snort still escaped him. “See you around, chica,” he said as he turned to leave. “Don’t forget you owe me soap.”

“ _I’m not a kid!_ ” she yelled after him, stubborn as ever, and he rolled his eyes and tossed a reply back over his shoulder.

“Whatever you say!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there actually aren't too many weird headcanons to explain in this part, I think, except for the obvious "Gaige having an inflated sense of her own maturity" (who KNOWS what she was actually getting up to at Scooter's) and "Mordecai being 100% done with everything, always." And yes, dreadlocks require a fair amount of maintenance, which makes me wonder how Mordecai's always look so nice.
> 
> so yeah. skinny bitches take a shower. (I'm actually working on a portrait of these two, because writing them was so fun I wanted to take a stab at drawing them.) EDIT LIKE A MILLION YEARS LATER: [LOOK I ACTUALLY DID THE THING I SAID I'D DO](http://68.media.tumblr.com/d95fd23ee33f6496a9aa113bbeef6bce/tumblr_odxyvbrpJC1qir0mco1_1280.jpg)
> 
> again, part three is written but I'm stalling on posting because nerdlord, etc. I'm actually trying to think up ideas for part 6 right now (it's Zero and Brick but that's all I've got), so I'm going to try to write that before I post any more so I can stay ahead.


	3. radiation and redheads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pandora is a sunbeaten planet but not everyone despises the heat.

Sanctuary had been hovering over the Dust since early morning, and the bright light reflecting off Elpis warmed the concrete rooftops of the city as the radiant heat from the sands below rose and baked its underbelly. It was hot, and most of the residents had taken shelter indoors, but Gaige had climbed up as close to the light as she could.

The rooftops were shimmering, but her skirt and stockings protected her well enough as she sat with her legs splayed, gazing down at the streets below and the sparse number of people that moved through them, sticking close to the shade of the buildings.

She was _bored._

It felt like nothing exciting had happened in forever, even though just last week she and Axton had gone and fought a giant mutated turkey-thing at the behest of Mister Torgue, which had been tons of fun even if it was weird as shit. But now the bounty boards were blank, the Echo channels were playing nothing but reruns, and no one seemed interested in just going exploring with her. And it was no fun going alone, even if she had a killer robot for company.

She wondered if it would be possible to program DT to tell jokes, then immediately discarded the idea with a shudder. She did not want to end up with a giant Claptrap on her hands. She shielded her eyes and stared off into the distance, past Sanctuary’s rooftops, out to the distant mountains that ringed the Dust. She couldn’t recall if she’d ever been out that way, or if there was anything exciting out there if she had.

“You know,” came a voice from behind her, “when you sit like that, anyone who looks up from the street can see your panties.”

Gaige looked back over her shoulder to see Lilith standing on the slope of the roof, her arms crossed and an amused look on her face. She wasn’t wearing her vest, probably in deference to the heat, though she still had on her usual tank top and form-fitting chaps.

“I don’t _care_ ,” Gaige moaned, throwing herself down flat on her back and looking up at the Siren. “Let them see!” She kicked her legs, making her skirt flip, and Lilith snorted and sat down to next to her, bracing herself on her hands and crossing her ankles.

Lilith was typically standoffish, keeping her distance from most people, but she’d always had a bit of an obvious soft spot for the newer crew of Vault Hunters and Gaige considered her a friend. Not to mention that being called “killer” by one of the most badass people on the planet gave Gaige a serious case of the warm fuzzies.

Keep your friends close, and if said friends are capable of melting people’s faces off, keep them even closer. Or something like that.

Gaige sat back up, bending her knees and leaning forward to drape her hands between them. “Please tell me you have something new and exciting to tell me, because I am straight losing my _mind_ right now.”

“What’s your definition of ‘new and exciting’?” Lilith looked up at the sky, squinting into the bright sunlight.

“Anything, at this point.” Gaige picked at her bracelets. “A giant monster terrorizing Overlook. A couple of idiot Hyperion goons up to no good who need an ass-kicking. Hell, at this point a new movie playing on the Echo would be the greatest thing ever. It doesn’t even have to be a _good_ movie.”

“Er.” Lilith chewed her lip as she leaned her head farther back, lean and shapely, a reclining goddess basking in the sun. “I think the new season of House of Bullets comes out next week?”

“ _Lame_ ,” Gaige groaned, throwing herself out flat again. “This is Pandora. Famous across the ‘verse for being a lawless planet of danger and excitement!” She blew a raspberry, then winced as her own spittle settled back on her face.

She heard Lilith snicker. Okay, she had not thought that through. “There has to be something happening,” she finished, sitting up and wiping her face with her gloved hand, trying to salvage at least a small scrap of dignity.

“Sorry, killer,” Lilith said. “Even Pandora has slow days.”

Gaige leaned in, tucking her head against Lilith’s shoulder. She was hot, hotter than even the sun on her skin should account for, a living sunbeam encased in pale and elegantly tattooed flesh. “At least say you’ll go exploring with me?”

Lilith rested her cheek on top of Gaige’s head, a rare gesture of affection that was not lost on either party. “Can't. I’ve got things to keep an eye on here. Have you asked the others?”

Gaige sighed and counted everyone off on her fingers. “Brick is out dealing with his dumb slabs. Mordecai was a dick to me and I don’t want to hang out with him right now, plus he’s all obsessed with his bird. Maya is trying to teach her big weird squeeze to act like a normal person - good luck with _that_ ,” she scoffed. “Axton has literally spent three days polishing his turret and I have already made all the jokes I can about it. Zero is Zero and I can only stand listening to his haikus for so long, not to mention he’s a filthy no-fun kill stealer. And Salvador is just being lazy. Like, he said to my face that he’s being lazy, and to leave him alone.” Gaige wrinkled her nose.

“Well, he’s rude, we already knew that.” Lilith plucked Gaige’s flesh hand out of the air and began inspecting her fingernails. “What about Tina?”

Gaige let Lilith manipulate her hand. It felt kind of nice, honestly. “She’s planning ‘the biggest, most awesomest tea party EVAR’-” she made air quotes with her robotic hand - “and, like, I love her, but I am so over the tea party thing. Last time I tried to help her set up one of those things I lost two fingers.” She presented her robotic hand to Lilith; sure enough, the pinky and ring fingers were newer and shinier than the other three digits. “Luckily I had spares.”

Lilith, losing interest in Gaige’s fingernails, grabbed her metallic limb and began inspecting it as well, paying attention to the joints, picking off flakes of rust and grit where she saw them. Gaige couldn’t feel it, not as much, but the attention was still nice.

“I’m sure something will come up soon,” the Siren said, brushing her thumbs over Gaige’s metal palm. “I could ask Scooter to take Sanctuary out over the Highlands, do a scouting run on the old Hyperion facilities. If you want.” She laughed a little, low and hoarse. “I wouldn’t mind a little excitement, either.”

Gaige felt sorry for her. Lilith had taken the events leading up to the opening of the Vault hard - all of them had, really - and even though she now wore the mantle of leadership willingly it still weighed heavily on her. She was a firecracker, a wild card, not designed for this sort of stability - day after day of being a figurehead, a solid leader, a guardian. She was a flickering flame instead of a steady rock. She wasn’t, and could never be, Roland.

But she stood her ground, carried on, using the fire that burned inside her to set the spirits of her men ablaze, and the whipcrack of her voice to goad them into action. She wasn’t Roland, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t a leader.

Gaige hoped to be half the woman she was, some day - gorgeous, powerful, feared and admired. Even if Lilith couldn’t recognize her own ability yet, everyone else certainly did.

“No, it’s okay,” Gaige said, tucking her cheek in tighter to Lilith’s throat, feeling the Siren’s pulse against her jawbone. “I’m sure there’s something else I can do besides kick bad guy ass. Something more useful, I mean.”

Lilith laughed, but Gaige wasn’t offended - what she’d just said _was_ alarmingly out of character. “Like what?”

Gaige shrugged. “I dunno. Help you, maybe? I could probably put together a mean recruitment poster, if I put my mind to it.” She was starting to sweat in the heat, feeling the moisture pool beneath her clothes and where her skin met Lilith’s, but not enough yet to be uncomfortable. Though she was sure she’d have a sunburn later, the warmth of the day was too good to hide from, and Lilith’s shoulder was strong yet soft beneath her cheek.

Sitting here, in the sunlight, she wondered if she could ever become uncomfortable. Down in the street, people might be able to look up and see her panties, but she didn’t care. She’d never been ladylike, anyways, and she didn’t want to be. She wanted to be radiation condensed, to be temper and terror and majesty, to blow minds both literally and figuratively. Her dad had always said that her red hair was a prophecy - an indicator of brilliance, in more ways than one.

Lilith had red hair too. Maybe it meant nothing, but she decided to think of it as a sign.

The Siren herself had said nothing for a long moment, distracted by tracing some exposed wiring in the crook of Gaige’s robotic elbow. Whenever she touched metal, Gaige could feel the sparks fly, and a shiver of power ran up her arm.

“Maybe,” Lilith finally said, withdrawing her hand. “But I think I’ve got it under control for now.”

Gaige smiled, squeezing the tattooed hand that still rested across the palm of her robotic one. “Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> redheads are my weakness, and I have so much love for Lilith that there's no way I could accurately express it.
> 
> again, not too heavy on the headcanons with the exception of the relationship between Lilith and Gaige, which I imagine to be pretty much what I laid out here - slightly maternal, somewhat sisterly, closer than you might expect. This is also a slightly more tender and sincere take on the "whatever you say" theme, in contrast to how sarcastic the first two parts have been.
> 
> I threw a little Tales from the Borderlands reference in there, for laughs (the events in Tales are probably taking place in roughly the same timeframe as these stories, for reference, and also I just love it so much oh my god Rhys and Vaughn just SLAY me. bro bro bro bro bro bro)
> 
> this part is pretty short but the next one is friggin beastly (and also probably my favorite so far) so be ready for that.


	4. soldier boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's nothing that Pandora's finest can't handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this part wound up being a 3500-word action sequence but I'm cool with it. I used to have pretty neutral feelings about Axton and then one day my brain decided it loved him ([you've forgotten the man I knew you to be](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3376649) was the result of that) and I genuinely enjoy writing him.
> 
> I also really enjoy writing from Lilith's perspective because have I mentioned she's my favorite? half because nostalgia, half because biggest asskicker on the whole planet. girl's stolen my heart.

“Dammit!” Lilith dove behind cover, her bootheels skidding through the slush as she spun to brace her back against the low wall. The half-melted snow beneath her ass immediately began soaking through the seat of her jeans, but it was only a small discomfort compared to the bullets whizzing overhead.

Her shield flashed on her hip, fully depleted, and her Hellfire lay on the ground two dozen feet away, out of reach and directly in the line of bandit fire. She growled, low and furious, angry that she’d let herself be caught so off-guard.

She’d had the idea to scout out the hole where Sanctuary had once resided, to see if there was any chance of landing the city-ship there again in the future. As far as Scooter could tell, the old piece of Dahl tech could stay afloat near-indefinitely, but it was always good to have a backup plan.

When Mordecai, politely yet firmly, had suggested she take someone as support, she’d argued. He’d beat her down, though - he’d always been able to, sneaking sideways right around her defenses, the trespasser - and she’d relented, though not enough to forgive and take him along like he clearly wanted. Instead, she’d selected Axton as her backup, under the pretense that he’d already visited the Hole and was therefore a more valuable asset. Mordecai had gone red in the face and stalked off, muttering under his breath, leaving her feeling mostly smug and just a tiny bit guilty.

There was another reason she’d decided on Axton, though she’d never admit it, not even to herself. His turret-centric style of combat, though much more extreme and aggressive in all regards, was very close to Roland’s, and though the familiarity made her heart ache it also made dispatching any threats that much easier. She liked soldier boys - they listened, they planned, they executed, even if some of them happened to be roaring glory-hounds.

Luckily, Axton’s affable demeanor and heavy-handed flirtatiousness were far removed from Roland’s stoic personality, and their working relationship was a comfortable one. Together they made a dynamic and effective team, more than capable of taking down even the toughest enemies.

Today seemed to be the exception, though, and every bullet that whizzed over her vulnerable head reminded her of that. Ever since Jack’s fall, the Fast Travel network had been more and more unpredictable, and it had deposited them at the Three Horns shoreline instead of the station closest to where Sanctuary had previously resided. Not willing to risk getting dropped even farther away from they intended to go, they’d decided to travel overland, but had stumbled onto an out-of-the way bandit encampment and promptly been attacked. Taken off-guard and unprepared, she and Axton had barely managed to make it to cover as the bandits had opened fire.

Or she’d made it to cover, at least. Axton, wherever he’d gone, was out of sight, and she could only hope he was okay.

Lilith peered around the edge of the low barrier, hoping to catch sight of him, but she only saw bandits before a bullet caught her shoulder and she fell back cursing.

Luckily, her shield had started to recharge right before the hit, and had deflected the round so that it had barely scratched her arm. Unfortunately, it was now back to zero charge, beeping and blinking, and she swore loudly, hammering the device with her fist. It was too slow, she’d needed an upgrade for weeks and knew it, but had neglected to stop by Zed’s before her dramatic march off to Pierce Station with Axton in tow.

She dropped a hand to her hip and flipped through her SDU, hoping to find a weapon that would be effective against the bandits. She usually relied on her trusty Hellfire, but the grenade blast that had eaten most of her shield had knocked it out of her hands and sent it skittering away to where it lay now, half-buried in a slush bank and glinting brightly.

Suddenly, a heavy body covered hers and she panicked, bringing force to bear around her hand and lashing out, stopping just an inch shy of the invading presence’s chest when she recognized the contour of the scarred chin above her. It was Axton, crouching over her with his legs straddling her hips, his head ducked low to keep it below the edge of the barrier.

There were bullet wounds peppering his right shoulder and bicep, his arm hanging useless at his side. Blood dripped into the snow, sending up curls of steam, but he seemed otherwise whole, his eyes sharp and alert and his breathing steady.

He was close enough for Lilith to feel his heartbeat, though, and it was agitated, a restless _thumpthumpthump_ that mirrored the hammering of her own.

“Five seconds,” he breathed, just loud enough to be heard over the rattle of gunfire, and Lilith glanced down at her hip. Her shield indicator had stopped flashing, and the counter was slowly winding back up. She looked to the left, where her Hellfire lay.

“I’m left,” she breathed back. “Gotta get my gun.” Her phasewalk would be more than enough to get her around, but the dimensional break wasn’t as effective as a weapon without Eridium to charge it. She needed that gun.

“Grenade, then right, then,” he hummed, a small smile breaking across his face as he reached for his belt, popping a grenade free and arming it. “In three..two...one.”

He stood, and Lilith barely caught a glimpse of him making an impressive left-handed pitch before she dove through his legs and blinked out of existence. Immediately the world went hazy, shades of grey and luminous blue, but her Hellfire was an orange spark in the faint shape of the snowbank before her and she darted over to it, dropped to the ground, broke back into reality as she rolled, and came to her feet with her gun at the ready.

The bandits were yelling, trying to move away from the grenade in their midst, but it bounced into the air and formed a swirling blue-black vortex, sucking them in closer.

She wouldn’t have pegged Axton as one to use singularities, but it worked. He was already moving, reaching awkwardly up to his shoulder where his turret was mounted, right arm still dangling. A stray bullet impacted on his shield and he staggered, but kept moving.

Lilith checked her Hellfire. The clip was half expended, and she took precious seconds to eject it and slam in a new one as the grenade exploded, bathing the bandits in flickering tendrils of blue light, and many of them screamed as the electricity ate through their shields and began burning fractals into their skin.

She heard Axton bark “Turret out!” but she was already heading forward, kicking up mud behind her as she charged into the fray. With their shields down, the bandits would be easy prey for the heat of her Hellfire, with nothing to stop the incendiary rounds from setting their flesh alight.

She loved soldier boys. She really did.

She spared Axton another glance as she moved. He was kneeling beside his turret, using it as cover as he opened fire with the assault rifle tucked under his good arm. His left-handed aim was lacking, but his turret more than made up for it, and she saw several sprays of blood go up from the bandit horde as she turned back to it.

And then she was among them, spitting fire as she screamed out a hoarse battle cry, knocking back those that dared get too close with solid phasestrike punches, her palm dripping venom as she moved through the camp. She was a natural disaster, a tidal wave and a forest fire and a thunderstorm all rolled into one, and somewhere outside the immediate flurry that her world had become she could hear Axton laughing, madly, the chainsaw sound of his turret providing a harsh and dangerous harmonic.

Bullets shattered against her shield and it broke, beeping urgently as the transparent hexagons fell away from her field of vision, but she was ready for it and immediately stepped across the barrier between worlds. Everything returned to blue and gray and luminous purple, and as she turned to face the horde she was greeted with towers of blinding orange, the burning bodies of the bandits she’d set ablaze.

She could still hear Axton’s turret, even in this place where she danced the line between realities, and she homed in on it, flying over the slush and mud, reveling in her speed and intangibility.

When she reached Axton she crouched down behind the curve of his slightly transparent shoulder, through which she could faintly see the foot of his turret and the texture of the ground. He couldn’t see her, couldn’t feel her as much more than a crackling of energy against the fine hairs on the back of his neck, but when she fell back into the world he didn’t seem surprised to look back over his shoulder and find her there.

“Nice work,” he said, the brief glimpse of his grin dazzling. She was close enough to feel the heat of his body, to smell his scent wafting off his skin - gunpowder and bourbon, canvas and copper, cinnamon, amber, sweat.

There were only a few bandits left, most having crumbled to ash, those that remained limping towards cover, and Lilith lifted her Hellfire to help finish them off. But before she could tighten her finger on the trigger, the door to one of the huts slammed open and a nomad stepped out.

Not just any nomad, either; this one was enormous, carrying a spiked slab of steel taller than it was like it weighed next to nothing. It looked around from under the brim of its hood, and brought its shield up in defense faster than Lilith could react to shoot.

“Crap,” Axton muttered, and much to Lilith’s alarm and surprise he recalled his turret, folding it neatly back into its SDU.

“What are you _doing_?” Lilith yelped, standing up and taking a step or two back as the nomad advanced on them, slowly but surely. She wasn’t ready to phasewalk again, not yet, not without -

There was something purple glinting in Axton’s palm, and he was holding it out to her. “Take this,” he said, never taking his eyes off the nomad. “Do what you gotta do. I’ll keep ‘im busy until you’re ready.”

She had no idea where he’d gotten a chunk of unrefined Eridium, but there was no time to ask, so she snatched it from his hand and backed hurriedly away, still keeping the nomad in her Hellfire’s sights. Its enormous steel shield blocked its body from view, the spikes that adorned it red with rust or blood, and though it couldn’t possibly see her through the metal she had the cold feeling that it knew exactly where she was.

Axton strafed out wide, footwork flawless despite the slick mud. His right arm still hung mostly useless, though the bleeding appeared to have slowed somewhat, and he swapped out the assault rifle in his left hand for another gun as he moved - a shotgun, some junky bandit-made piece of work, with fierce white fighter-jet teeth painted on its red body.

“Hey! Ugly!” he yelled, leveling the shotgun at the massive nomad. “I’ve got something for ya!”

The nomad turned, just a bit, away from Lilith and towards Axton, and she took the opportunity to bolt out of range, taking cover behind a nearby boulder. There was an ear-shattering report - Axton firing the shotgun - and she peered out at him, squeezing the Eridium tightly in her fist.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she muttered to herself. There was another report, and this time she could see the shotgun pellets bounce off the nomad’s shield as it advanced, flying back towards Axton, flares of blue illuminating where they struck him. He backed away, just quickly enough to keep out of the nomad’s reach, firing the shotgun one-handed as he went.

The Eridium in Lilith’s hand was glowing, but it wasn’t fast enough, not nearly fast enough, and she dropped her Hellfire into the mud to get a second hand on the luminous chunk, digging her fingers into the slowly softening surface, willing it to absorb. The palms of her gloves were getting in the way, reducing the amount of skin contact, but there was no time to take them off.

Around the encampment, the few remaining bandits were leaving their cover, slowly converging on the big nomad. Most were heavily wounded, but she saw shields reforming around one or two of them as they moved. Axton was still backing up, though he’d stopped firing, and she realized that he couldn’t reload with only one good hand. His teeth were gritted, eyes flickering back and forth between the nomad and the lesser bandits, and he was running out of places to go.

Suddenly he slipped, feet sliding out from under him as he landed hard and gracelessly on his ass, letting out a bark of pain and surprise. He scrambled, but couldn’t find his feet, and the nomad continued to advance, raising its shield slightly in preparation. She knew that stance; those shields were heavy enough to cut a man in two.

“Now or never, jackass,” Lilith growled at the chunk of Eridium in her hands, and _squeezed_ so hard that it broke, shattering, and she gasped as she felt the shards penetrate her skin and dissipate, power immediately flowing up her arms and burning in her chest. Her tattoos began to glow orange, the color traveling from her fingertips up the patterns on her arm.

This time, when she broke the barrier between worlds, it exploded in a corona of purple light that sent debris flying away from her, digging a small crater into the ground. The bandits stopped in their tracks to look towards where the noise had come from, but she was already on the move. Everything glowed purple, chilling and fiery all at once, and the passage of her body through the dimensional space sent out arcs of lightning that homed in on the bandits. Even in this other place, she could hear their muffled yelps as the thin strings of energy bit through their shields and into their skin.

But the biggest shield was unaffected, the glittering purple shape of the nomad raising its steel slab even higher as it advanced on the still-prone shape of Axton, the white sparks of its eyes blindingly hot beneath its hood. Lilith dropped to one hip and slid, reduced friction and advanced momentum working to her advantage as she moved across the purple ghosts of mud and snow, and she came to her knees at Axton’s side. She swung a leg over him, facing the nomad, brought her arms up in front of her, and focused as hard as she could on keeping the force of her re-entry off the man beneath her as she broke back through the barrier.

Her return to reality was accompanied by a detonation that rattled the ground, despite the main force of the blast being channeled towards the nomad. Directed and amplified by Lilith’s tattoos and intent, the concussion snuck under the raised edge of the shield, caught the nomad under the chin, and blew its head clean off.

Slowly, still holding the shield aloft, the body slumped to its knees, then fell sideways with a heavy _thud_. The shield, caught on the nomad’s arm, stood upright for a moment before it  splattered to the ground, sending a fine spray of mud and water over Lilith and Axton. She winced, wiping at her face even as the tattoos on her forearm faded from brilliant orange to their usual icy blue.

She looked back over her shoulder at Axton, who seemed ruffled and shellshocked but otherwise untouched, his eyes wide as he looked up at her. “Wow,” he squeaked, and she grinned, climbing off him as he propped himself up on his elbows.

The remaining bandits were staring at them in terror, and Axton popped his turret off his shoulder and threw it out towards them. They scattered as the machine started mowing them down with chattering bursts, and Lilith helped Axton to his feet.

He flexed his wounded arm, squeezing his hand into a fist and wincing as he tested the rotation of his shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” he said to her look of concern. “There’s gotta be a hypo around here somewhere.” He looked down at mountainous corpse of the fallen nomad. “That was absolutely fucking badass, by the way.”

She smirked at him, but her cocky “I know” was cut off as he scooped her into a one-armed hug, lifting her clear off the ground as she gasped.

“You smell like rain,” he said, his face buried in her hair.

“Ozone,” she told him, laughing breathlessly, trying to kick her dangling feet out at him even as she gripped his arm with both hands. The scent of the battlefield was still on him, smoke and mud and blood, and she was silently grateful to know that she didn’t smell the same way.

“Whatever,” he replied, giving her a final squeeze and dropping her back to the ground. Somewhere behind her, a bandit screamed and the turret stopped chattering, and she trotted off to retrieve her Hellfire from where she had left it.

When she returned, Axton had packed his turret back into its SDU and was picking a luminous pink vial up off the ground. “So is the mission still a go?” he asked her, popping the cap off the hypo with his teeth and rolling up his sleeve.

She used her Hellfire to shield her eyes as she squinted up at Elpis, judging how much light they had left in the day. “Yeah,” she said. “There should be a Catch-a-Ride not too far from here, so it shouldn’t take us too long to get to the Hole. From there, we can either camp out and survey or go in and attempt to clear the place out, whatever you’re up for.” She was damp and cold from rolling around in the mud and slush, but Scooter had upgraded her account as a token of appreciation for her work, meaning all her cars were constructed with heated seats and a glovebox full of snacks. Weird as they were, a pimentaco did sound amazing right now.

Axton dropped the expended hypo to the ground, looking satisfied with the results as he again rotated his shoulder, testing his arm. “I’m a little low on ammo, so let me scavenge around and stock up first. Then I’ll be ready for anything.” He checked the bandit shotgun he’d been wielding against the nomad, popping the clip out and slapping a fresh one in. “Shouldn’t take long.”

“You could really use an upgrade for that,” she pointed out, and he shrugged, tucking it back into his SDU.

“Well, let me know if you find something better, then. Though nothing is gonna be quite as deadly as you, I’m sure.” His smile was easy, friendly, charming, as she rolled her eyes even as she returned it.

“Obviously,” she said. “Though if you happen to have any more Eridium on you, I’d appreciate you telling me when we’re _not_ in a total crunch.” She could still feel a faint tingle of power beneath her fingernails, but she’d expended most of it killing the nomad.

In saving Axton’s life. It was an odd and slightly painful thought.

“Fresh out,” he said. “But I’ll let you know the second I find more, on one condition.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“That if you tell anyone about what happened here,” he said, serious as a sucking chest wound, “you have to leave out the part where I fell on my ass.”

She snorted and turned away, sashaying off to find a crate that she could loot.

“I mean it!” He sounded a little desperate, and she waved a casual salute over her shoulder at him as she walked.

“Whatever you say!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild sexual tension ayyyyyyyy
> 
> I was thinking about the bandit encampment where you find the piece to repair that first Catch-A-Ride, fyi. I've never encountered a badass nomad there that I can recall (and I've been there LOTS), but that's the stage I had in mind, if it helps you picture it.
> 
> slight exploration into Lilith dealing with Roland's death, some hints as to how I feel shields and health vials would work if they were real things, thoughts about how Axton might smell?, Eridium, phasewalking funtimes (I miss playing as Lilith), mostly just a lot of killin stuff. the next part is like HOLY SHIT TECH HEADCANONS but it has Zero being an adorable little shit in it so I hope I can be forgiven.
> 
> I only have one and a half parts left to write (nine parts total), and while I feel like I'm running short on scenarios, because I did all the fun ones first, they're coming along quite well. The one I'm currently writing is giving me shit because I can't write fluffy stuff, though. oh well.


	5. gun oil zen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's something calming about steel and solvent and quiet companionship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter of broship, woop.
> 
> Zer0 (spelled "Zero" here, for the sake of my eyeballs) was my first Borderlands 2 character and I have an enormous weak spot for him. I've been taking a stab at UVHM recently and it's hell as melee/cunning Zer0, but still fun.
> 
> apologies in advance for the numerous tech headcanons. I always try to rationalize ways that video game technology could make sense/operate in real life but it doesn't always come across clearly.

The scent of solvent was sharp in Axton’s nose as he slowly rubbed the cloth over the assault rifle’s chamber and barrel, patiently working the grime and residue out of all the nooks and crannies. Maybe the years of military training had conditioned him, but he had always found cleaning his weapons to be very soothing, and it was something he liked to take his time on. By the time he felt relaxed and content, his equipment was always sparkling clean.

And this gun in particular - man, oh man. He’d been running patrol, clearing out some spiderant nests on Ellie’s request - he’d do anything for that girl, even though he was sure she could handle most things all by herself - when he’d stumbled across one of your stereotypical Pandoran crazies. He’d shot the guy dead, of course, and started combing through his scant belongings more out of habit than actual expectation to find anything usable. When his heads-up display brought up the stats card for the weapon he now held in his hands, he’d nearly had a heart attack.

It was a “Hammer Buster,” according to the information provided by the manufacturer. Axton had never been much of a Jakobs man - too old-school - but he was willing to make an exception for a rare piece like this one. It didn’t really look like much, partially because it had been beat to absolute shit when he’d picked it up out of the dust, but if the stats were accurate then it would be a monster on the battlefield.

“Not as much of a monster as you, of course,” he crooned, as much to himself as to his turret, which was sitting boxed in its SDU on the table with the rest of his gear. “But I feel like you two are gonna be _great_ friends.”

He discarded the soiled cloth in his hands and picked up a clean one, gently working the solvent and grime free with practiced motions. She was never gonna be shiny, but he knew that with enough patience he could make her look pretty good, and work even better. He wondered if he had wood polish somewhere; the stock and barrel cover, stripped from the gun and lying on the towel he’d laid on his work surface, could really use a fresh stain and seal.

The door creaked open, but Axton was too absorbed in his work to even to spare it a glance. He was set up in the back storage room, after all - someone was bound to need something out of the crates and lockers that lined the walls.

When several seconds passed without a greeting, or the sounds of someone moving around the room, he did look up. It was Zero, tall and featureless as always, looking at down at the table with a very slight tilt to his head. He was a tough one to read, but long months by his side and countless battles had made Axton fairly adept at deciphering the helmeted assassin’s body language. The head tilt, combined with no projection, indicated mild curiosity.

“Hey, buddy,” Axton said. “Whatcha up to?” His hands never stopped working, his calloused fingertips snagging on the cloth where the solvent had dried out his skin. He knew he should wear gloves while cleaning, but he loved the unobstructed feel of metal in his hands far too much.

Zero tilted his head the other direction, and insistently projected a question mark. Frankly, it was a tiny bit adorable.

“Take a look for yourself,” Axton said, proffering the body of the weapon in his hands. The manufacturer chip was embedded somewhere in the inner workings, in a place where it couldn’t be easily removed without damaging the action and rendering the whole thing useless. It was possible to swap out extraneous parts - clip, stock, grip, sometimes even the barrel - but as far as he could tell, all the parts on this weapon were original, meaning the information stored on the chip was accurate. He’d check it against the network once it was cleaned up., see if the stats needed to be updated.

Zero leaned over the table, his tall frame forcing him to bend almost ninety degrees at the waist. The red question mark projected in front of his helmet was replaced by an ellipsis as he presumably read the stats that his heads-up display had provided for him, and after a few seconds he jerked back upright, projecting an exclamation point.

Axton laughed. “I know, right?”

A second exclamation point joined the first.

“Sit down, man, stay a while. And if you’ve got something of your own to clean, might as well do so while I’ve got all the stuff out.” Axton laid the gun body back down on the towel, resisting the urge to stroke it tenderly.

Zero looked around for a moment, and when he was unable to locate a chair he grabbed a crate instead and swung it over to the table - Axton didn’t know if it was empty or not, but Zero moved it around like it didn’t weigh anything. He sat, gracefully, and held out his three-fingered hands.

“It is beautiful, may I please examine it a bit more closely?” he asked in his soft, heavily filtered voice. Zero’s haikus were sometimes quite subtle, easy to overlook as nothing more than normal speech patterns, but Axton had spent enough time with his fellow Vault Hunter to recognize the slightly metered cadence of his speech.

“Sure thing.” Axton pushed the towel bearing the gun body across the table, picking up the wheel clip instead. As Zero lifted the gun body and turned it over gently in his hands, Axton soaked a fresh cloth in solvent and began working on the clip, which was heartbreakingly spotted in rust and dirt. It was almost a shame he’d killed the previous owner so quickly - people who treated their weapons this poorly were not deserving of an easy death.

“A fine instrument of battle, but it has been ill taken care of,” the assassin mused, sliding his fingers along the barrel. “Although it is not my type. Where did you happen to come across it?” He punctuated his statement with another projected question mark and head tilt, raising his chin just enough to given Axton the impression he was looking his way.

Yep, adorable. Zero was a lot of weird things, but the “cute” part was definitely the weirdest. You see a man put a sword through a psycho’s chest like it’s nothing, and then he turns and projects a heart emoticon at you and you just melt. Axton probably needed his head checked, but so did everyone else on Pandora.

“Picked her off some lone crazy out in the Dust,” he said, sliding the cleaning cloth along the edge of the clip. “Not sure how he managed to get his hands on her, but he was not utilizing her full potential, that’s for sure. This planet ain’t hospitable to much, weapons included, so I figure it’s just neglect that’s got her looking such a mess.”

Zero put the gun body down, conscientiously wiping his gloved hands on the towel before reaching for the wooden stock and barrel cover. “I am sure that in your hands and care, it will deal death for years to come,” he said, his tone slightly reverent as he examined the pieces.

Axton grinned. What could he say - he loved it when people waxed all poetic about him. “What about you? Any good finds lately?”

Zero projected a frowny face and shook his head slightly, setting the pieces in his hands back down on the table.

Axton returned the frown. “I’m sure something’ll come your way soon. I heard Marcus is due to get a new shipment in next week. Maybe he’ll cut you a deal?”

Zero projected an uncertain face, and after a moment added angry eyebrows onto it: >:/

Axton chuckled. “Yeah, that about sums up how we all feel about Marcus.” He started wiping the solvent off the clip with a clean cloth. “Well, stick around for a while, man, clean what you’ve got. Polishing your equipment never hurt anyone - in fact, it’s good for the mind, body and soul.” He hummed a brief tune, sliding the clip through the cloth gripped in his hand.

Zero projected a set of eyebrows, and then raised one of them. That was new, and it took Axton a moment to catch on.

“What - oh, come on,” he growled, exasperated, but Zero just flipped back and forth between the two projections, making the eyebrow appear to waggle, and Axton swore he heard a faint rumble of laughter emit from the assassin’s chest.

“Seriously, cut it out. I get enough of the friggin jacking-off jokes from Gaige.” Axton reached across the table, pulling the gun body back over to his side. “Making fun of a man for wanting to take care of his equipment. It’s not cool.”

“I said nothing. It was your own words that supplied the innuendo,” Zero replied in perfectly stilted  haiku, projecting a smiley face in response to Axton’s scowl.

“You gonna clean something or are you just gonna sit there and mock me?” Axton muttered, rubbing at a stubborn rust spot on the clip. She was looking better already, but it was going to take a bit more work to get her up to standards.

Zero’s helmet went black as one of his hands disappeared below the edge of the table, reemerging with the hilt of his sword. He settled it on the table, and the blade began to digistruct, forming itself out of nothingness from hilt to tip until it lay there in all its luminous, dangerous glory.

Axton blinked. “Not what I had in mind, but okay.” He pushed over the bottle of solvent and the box he kept his precious clean rags in. “That’ll work, I take it?”

Zero flashed him a winking emoticon and nodded. “My tools are not the same as yours, but they require the very same care.” He fiddled with something on the hilt of the sword and the glowing edge faded, leaving just the sleek metal. Not too sleek, though; Axton noticed that it was pitted and spotted with unidentifiable dark spots. All that blood couldn’t be good for it.

Though short a finger, Zero’s hands were deft and he got right to work wiping down the blade, rubbing carefully at the dark stains. Axton, after giving the body of his Hammer Buster another quick wipe to make sure all the solvent was removed, switched over to the gun oil and began giving the barrel a thin, even coating.

It was quiet for a while, except for slight metallic sounds as Zero flipped his blade and Axton switched out the part he was working on. He could feel his mind clearing, losing himself to the familiar scent of gun oil and the feel of smooth steel in his bare hands. The world slowly began to dissolve - the stars, the moon, the harsh planet outside the room in which he now sat, until it was just him in his chair, elbows braced on the table and the slick metal moving through his palms.

He was so lost that he didn’t even notice that Zero was trying to ask for something until a flashing red light invaded his line of vision and interrupted his peace. He looked up. Zero was strobing his helmet projector at him, cycling through a series of emoticons in what was presumably an attempt to catch his attention.

“What’s up?” Axton asked, trying to cling to the peace he’d been feeling just a moment before. It slipped away, and he sighed.

Zero flashed him a smiley face and a frowny face in quick succession - an apology, as far as Axton could decipher - and indicated the bottle of gun oil at Axton’s right hand, just out of the assassin’s reach.

Axton looked down, and noticed that he had the Hammer Buster’s clip back in his hands, and that he could still see grit on it. “Trade you,” he said, picking up the gun oil and indicating the solvent that Zero had on his side of the table.

Zero flashed him a smiley face and passed him the bottle with one hand, accepting the offered gun oil with the other. The smooth leather of his gloves brushed against Axton’s slightly greasy fingertips, and Axton wondered for the hundredth time was was really underneath his suit.

It took only a bare minute for Zero to apply a light coating of oil to both sides of his blade to protect the metal, and Axton was still working at a stubborn rust spot when he was done. The assassin wiped his gloved hands down carefully, and added the soiled rags to the pile growing at the edge of the table.

“Done already?” Axton asked, using both thumbs to work the rag across the clip with as much force as possible. Damn spot would _not_ come off, and he was starting to wonder if he really could get his new find up to standards. New parts were an option, but they weren’t cheap, not when Marcus was the only reliable supplier around.

Zero picked up his blade, flipping a hidden switch in the hilt to turn it back on. The familiar glow of blue energy ran its way along the edge, reflecting off his helmet. When he projected an uncertain face, it looked almost purple instead of its usual red.

“There is more to do.” Five syllables, but no more followed. From somewhere in his suit, he produced a set of small tools and popped open a hatch on the hilt of the sword. The blue glow flickered off again, and the assassin’s three-fingered hands went to work on the guts of his weapon. Axton couldn’t see the workings from his perspective, but the size of the tools indicated that they were very delicate. He ran the roughened pad of his thumb over the stubborn rust spot on the clip. It was hard to tell, but it looked like it might be coming off.

A few more scrubs and it did, and Axton bit his lip to hold in his excited grin. He rotated the clip slowly, inspecting it, and saw only unmarked, satiny metal. Like he’d suspected, she was never going to be shiny, but he found himself liking the low-polish finish quite a lot.

He looked up, intending to ask Zero for the gun oil, but the assassin was already holding it out to him. The red emoticon heart floating in front of his helmet visor flickered slightly as he cocked his head.

“Thanks,” Axton said, accepting the bottle and taking a clean rag from the bottom of the box. Carefully, he began to oil the clip, paying close attention to the grooves and edges that could trap moisture and cause it to rust again.

Across the table, the energy edge of Zero’s sword flickered back to life. It looked like it might be glowing slightly brighter than it had been before, and the assassin made a slight humming noise as he inspected it. Apparently still dissatisfied, he turned it off and went back to probing at the inner workings.

Finished with the clip, Axton began reassembling the Hammer Buster, taking the time to inspect each piece as he worked. The wooden components were still dull and scratched, but he was too eager to get the gun reassembled again to care. His hands were sure as he worked, handling the weapon like an old favorite instead of a new find, and when he snapped the stock into place the gun fit into his hands like she had always belonged there.

He held her up for inspection, loving the way the soft finish of the metal diffused the light that bounced off it, the texture of the wood grain of the stock, the elegant curve of the wheel clip.

He wasn’t a Jakobs man, but for a gun like this he was certainly willing to become one.

“She’s truly magnificent,” came Zero’s filtered voice, his tone reverent, and Axton wasn’t quite lost enough in the beauty to not count all seven syllables.

“Something like that, yeah,” Axton breathed, bringing the gun back down to the table.

Zero put his tools aside and closed the hatch on his blade, picking it up and rotating it carefully, testing the balance. When the energy edge came one, it was almost blindingly bright, and a joyous face appeared in front of his helmet: :D

“That ain’t half bad either, y’know,” Axton commented, and Zero flashed him another heart as he ran his thumb along the blunt edge of his blade. When he got to the tip, the blade began to disintegrate, dissolving into blue digipixels which in turn faded into nothingness, until he was left holding just the hilt. He tucked it into his belt before looking back up at Axton and cocking his head, helmet blank.

“Another time, then?” he asked, rising to his feet, and Axton didn’t have to count to know exactly how many syllables that sentence had.

He chuckled and began gathering up his supplies, putting the soiled cloths to the side to be washed and boxing up the solvent and oil with the clean ones. Zero cocked his head the other direction.

“Sure, man, whatever you say.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so tech headcanon explanations: the heads-up display is a real thing, operating in a manner similar to Google Glass. Item cards for weapons do pop up while the item in question is being inspected; however, the white/green/blue/etc rarity system does NOT exist. Higher-rarity weapons are obviously identifiable from their price (updated against the ECHO network) and their statistics (pretty much everything included on the in-game cards with the exception of bullet damage). The chip thing is fairly self-explanatory, and items that have swapped or upgraded parts can have their stats and pricing updated by checking them against the ECHO network. 
> 
> Bandits don't have SDUs, which explains why the Hammer Buster Axton found is in such poor shape - items stored in the SDU are maintained in the state that they were originally scanned in at. (The Hammer Buster was the first BL2 legendary I found, during the Bane quest, and I got really confused because I thought it WAS the Bane??? I still use it sometimes, it's a beast). An item can be force re-scanned by the SDUs owner. Digistructing works differently depending on the technology, i.e. cars and guns operate differently, and Zer0's sword shows wear and tear despite being a digistructed element because it gets re-scanned every few uses, which means that damage builds up over time (I know that doesn't make sense from a practical perspective, but whatever).
> 
> While everything Zer0 says in this chapter should be in haiku (please let me know if I hecked up my syllable counts), I prefer him as being mostly nonverbal, especially in dealing with people he's more comfortable with. I also don't have any particular strong headcanons regarding Zer0's actual species/gender. He was designed as the classic mysterious character, and I respect that. (The only thing I've really considered is that he might be intersex, or something similar, but it's really not important to me.)
> 
> MASTURBATION JOKES.
> 
> I only have one more chapter to write and then it's just a matter of getting them all posted, woop.


	6. less than dynamic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vault Hunters often have differing opinions on how things should get done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BRICK.
> 
> I had literally no idea what this chapter was going to be about when I started writing it, so it came out a little...well, the word I have is "angstier" than I'm happy with, but that's not quite right. I like it, mostly, just got a little weird on me.
> 
> but BRICK.

“Explain to me again why I have to sit up here,” Brick grumbled, “with you, instead of being down there, punchin stuff.” He crossed his enormous arms and bared his cracked tombstone teeth. “I don’t like it.”

Zero sighed, feeling the rocks dig through his suit as his chest expanded and deflated. He was stretched out flat on his stomach, eye (or more accurately, helmet visor) pressed to the scope of his Skullmasher, tracking the movements of the figures below. The vantage point wasn’t ideal, but it was serviceable. It would, of course, be better if Brick could keep his mouth shut for two minutes, but Zero had long ago accepted that you very rarely got what you wanted when working with other Vault Hunters.

“As I said before,” he explained, patiently as possible, “this is a more tactical way to approach things.” Luckily, the vocal filter on his helmet disguised most of the strain in his voice, but he could still hear it as his own words echoed through the bones of his skull. Brick was a fierce warrior, a man to be admired, but Zero found his preferred modes of combat distressingly limited.

The brawler snorted. “Still don’t like it.”

Zero resisted the urge to grind his teeth, putting his eye back to the scope. “I had noticed that.”

The ledge they were perched on, halfway down the side of one of Pandora’s signature spiny cliffs, was cast in deep shadow by the angle of the rock and the position of Elpis in the slowly darkening sky. Getting to this spot would not have been an easy feat for most, but Zero was agile and Brick was unbreakable. They’d simply climbed up the sloping rear of the cliff and jumped down from the top, Brick landing hard enough to crack the earth that covered the ledge, Zero opting for a parkour roll.

Below them, bandits strolled among the scattered and mostly dismantled buildings that were nestled between the cliffs. Broken bits of railroad track connected many of the structures, and the bandits followed them as they made their lazy patrol, unaware of the Vault Hunters that lurked above.

Through the scope of his rifle, Zero could see the seams of their ragtag clothes and the rust stains on their weapons, but nothing out of the ordinary. He lifted his head, scanning the valley without the aid of magnification, trying to get an overarching feel for the situation. The guard didn’t seem to be concentrated in one area over another, and he didn’t see any heavy weaponry. He was starting to think that this whole journey had been a waste of time.

It might be, for all he knew - Professor Tannis was the one who’d put him up to it, and while she was more often brilliant than not, she also had a long history of being somewhat less than entirely sane. Zero would rather face down a raging goliath bare-handed than run around picking up her disjointed diary entries again, no matter how handsome her rewards were.

“Can we go down yet?” Brick asked, and Zero turned towards him, flashing an angry face on his visor. “I’m just asking!”

Zero deigned to not answer, peering back through his scope and sweeping the valley floor. He’d picked this location because it was in deep shadow, preventing light from reflecting off his scope and potentially alerting the bandits below, but the trade-off was that his view of the valley was very limited.

“We may need to relocate. This vantage point is not comprehensive.” He laid his rifle down and pushed himself up to a seated position, scanning the surrounding cliffs for another potential crow’s nest.

“Why don’t we just go down there and fuck ‘em up already?” Brick asked. He was sitting cross-legged, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, looking for all the world like an enormous, scarred boulder. “I know you’re almost as good as me at the up close and personal stuff, so I don’t get why you gotta be actin all sneaky. Let’s just bring the _hurt_ on them.”

“Will you be _quiet_ ,” Zero snarled, the vocal filter turning it into more of a hiss.

“Fine.” Brick cracked his knuckles, the joints popping like firecrackers. “Just don’t see why I gotta be here at all, is all.”

Zero felt his jaw clenching, teeth scraping against each other, and did his best to relax the muscles in his face. “There is a rumor,” he said, rising to his feet, “that someone has taken over the throne of Sledge.” He dusted off his suit. “A new bandit king in Headstone Mine could be a significant threat. We must find and dispatch any such usurpers immediately.”

“Yeah, but why? I took the guy’s hammer, which was like, his symbol of power.” Brick stood as well, the weapon in question slung across his back, nearly dwarfed by the hulk of his deltoids.

“That is _precisely_ why you have come along with me on this journey.” Zero sighed. “A new leader could be deposed by the return of the ghost of Sledge.”

The huge man blinked. “And that’s me?”

Zero resisted the urge to bury his visor in his palms. “ _Yes_.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so before?”

“ _I did_.”

“Oh.” Brick scratched his chin. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Clearly.”

The brawler slammed one meaty fist into the opposite palm with a slap that echoed off the cliff. Zero winced. “Then what are we waitin for? Let’s go find this asshole and put the fear of… well, me in ‘im!”

“ _That is what I am doing_ ,” Zero snapped, forgetting his syllable count in his frustration. “I am _trying_ to locate our target but you are making it _very, very difficult_.” Struggling to reel in his emotions, he cycled his visor at a rapid pace as he turned and stalked away across the ledge, teeth grinding furiously. He hoped that Brick couldn’t hear.

There was a heartbeat of silence. “Well,” Brick said, his voice gravelly, “Sledge hung out in a longhouse near the other side of the valley, back in the day. We get up on the low cliffs over there, we could probably get eyes on whoever’s shackin up there now.”

Zero turned, letting his helmet projector flicker out as he did. Brick was pointing across the valley, to where it kinked and dipped, hiding the lay of the land from sight. Zero hadn’t thought there was much back there, but apparently he’d been wrong.

He felt a little bad. He knew that Brick had been here before. He’d heard the story, and the man even wielded the long-dead bandit leader’s weapon, but he’d neglected to ask for his input. Brick was just big - a full foot taller than Zero, who was a few spare inches over six feet - and boisterous, which made it terribly easy to forget that he was far from stupid.

Zero crouched and picked his Skullmasher up out of the dirt. “How long to get there?” he said, carefully measuring his speech.

Brick shrugged one massive shoulder, the hammer on his back shifting. “Depends on which way we go. Around…” He grinned. “Or through.”

Zero flashed an X on his helmet projector. “We do the former, of course,” he said, and Brick sighed in defeat.

“Fine. We could prolly get there before night, if we hustle.” He passed a hand over his shaved head, looking up at the sky. “It was Tannis who set you up to this, right?”

Zero nodded.

“If it turns out this is just another symptom of her being, y’know, crazy, and there’s no new bandit lord, can I still play the ghost of Sledge and mess some people up?” His grin was half grimace, stony teeth and scarred lips, but he still managed to look as hopeful as a child asking for a new toy.

Zero sighed, shoulders sagging. It was absurd, but he was tired of arguing the point. His vocal filter entirely failed at removing the resignation from his reply. “Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would kill for more quests that take you back to original BL1 locations. the first time I got to the Arid Badlands in BL2 I just whispered "oh no. oh no oh no oh NO" over and over to myself. I have a lot of emotions about it. (I also shrieked like a fucking banshee and cried my eyes out after the whole wildlife exploitation preserve thing. like, ripped my headphones off, threw my laptop away from me, and started making inhuman noises. there are several witnesses to this event.)
> 
> also, I guess I have a headcanon that Zer0 grinds his teeth. it was tough writing from his perspective when I don't have any strong thoughts about what's under the suit, so I just defaulted to "human." works out well enough.
> 
> it was always funny to me that the melee-oriented classes are so different in personality. their styles of melee are super distinct, obviously, but still. I never imagined Zer0 and Brick as getting on super well because of that disparity ("uncouth" and "prissy" might be the summation of opinions), so that grate was fun to write. writing characters who don't get along is often more fun than writing those that do.
> 
> I have not even taken a hack at writing the final chapter because it's a really odd character set, and I'm not really sure how to get to where I know I want the whole thing to end (which should be hilarious). but I've got two more chapters to post that are written, and hopefully I get the last one done this week.


	7. skag steak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone has tethers binding them to their past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe I have a weak spot for Sirens, but I'm really happy to finally be getting to Maya. something about her backstory has always really spoken to me, and while I didn't initially intend to explore it, I ended up going that direction anyways. and tying it back to Brick - well, I feel like people often forget why he came to Pandora in the first place. he's got a lot more depth and contour to him than people give him credit for, and writing him in a way that bares the softness of his heart a little came easily.
> 
> (I always wrote Lilith as having a soft spot for Brick, even way back before BL2 came out, because I always had a soft spot for Brick. and then, when TPS came out and Mordecai accuses her of not liking anyone, and she shoots back "I like Brick" - I was delighted, because I'd been right all along. soft spot for giant berzerker, both canon AND warranted.)

Maya was already in the kitchen when Brick walked in, her fists planted on her hips as she looked up at the high cabinets with a frustrated look on her face. She glanced around, searching for something, and when her eyes landed on Brick her expression became surprised, then relieved.

“Hey, could you lend me a hand?” she asked. “I need to get in the top cupboard, and, well…” She gestured at herself; not short, for a woman, but definitely too short to reach the high shelves without help.

“Sure thing,” Brick rumbled, moving to stand beside her. The top of her head barely came up to his chest. “What’re you after?”

“Lilith said there were some rations up there? I’m just looking for lunch, so, whatever’s handy.”

Brick chuckled. “So she told you where the good stuff is, then?” He opened one of the cabinets - while high, it was barely a stretch for him - and began rooting around inside. “Thought she was hoarding it for herself.”

Maya cocked her head at him, blue hair shifting across her face. “The good stuff?”

Brick pulled down a packet and handed it to her, gently. Her hands were very soft. “Officer’s rations,” he said, pointing to the lettering on the packet, his broad fingertip almost blocking out the Atlas logo completely. “The good stuff.”

Maya inspected the pouch of freeze-dried food, her pale eyes widening. “Oh, wow.” She looked up at him, incredulous. “ _Real_ beef?”

“Closer to it than skag steak,” Brick replied, and she rolled her eyes even as she held the packet tighter.

“Skag steak is about as far from hamburger as you can get, so that’s not saying much.” Brick couldn’t help the rumble of laughter that rolled from his chest, like a rockslide on a far-off mountain. “But I’m sure this has to be better than ninety percent of the slop you can find on this planet.” She flipped the packet over and started reading the instructions.

Brick leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. “You prolly ate a lot better back where you came from, huh?”

She looked up at him in surprise. “Um, well, yes, I suppose. The food at the monastery was very plain, but the monks knew how to take some of the simplest ingredients and make them delicious.” She shook her head. “I wish they hadn’t been so insistent on coddling me. I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen, so I never learned how to cook. Would have been useful now, I imagine.”

Brick shrugged one massive shoulder. “Not like there’s much here to cook with.”

“Yeah, but the monks probably could have made even a skag steak taste good.” She sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to work _that_ magic.” She turned to the counter, setting down the rations packet and taking the kettle from the induction stovetop. Brick realized he was blocking the sink, and scooted over as she turned to it.

“Thanks,” she said, and her smile was tired. She filled the kettle and put it back on the stove to boil.

“Is everything alright?” Brick asked her. She was typically somber, restrained, but today she seemed more so than usual, and there was a tension around her eyes that he didn’t recall having seen before.

People liked to paint him as being nothing more than hulking and dumb, and he let them. He didn’t care to concern himself with what others thought of him, but he was concerned with the well-being of other people, especially when they were honorary Slabs. Family takes care of family, after all.

Maya opened her mouth, shut it, leaned her head into her own shoulder. He didn’t push her, leaning back against the cabinets. He wasn’t in any rush, and she could make up her own mind about whether or not to share.

“A lot has happened,” she finally said. Her gloved hand came up to touch her bare forearm, gently tracing the tattoos there. “And sometimes there’s a part of me that misses home - the monastery - even though the rest of me knows how ridiculous that is.” She looked back up at him, a tight smile on her face.

“There’s always a part of everyone that misses home,” he said, and he didn’t even have to touch the tokens hanging from his neck to feel the weight of them.

“Even if you look back and realize how _bad_ it was?” she asked, frustration coloring her voice. “Restricted? Limited?” Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “I mean - I just realized that I didn’t need your help to get up to the cabinets. I’m a Siren, I have telekinetic _goddamn_ powers, I could have just-” She brought her hand up, wrist rolling, fingers opening gracefully, and a phaselock bubble formed in her palm, making the cabinet doors rattle. “But the monks had a ‘no powers in the house’ rule, and it apparently stuck.” Her laugh was choked and thick.

The kettle began to whistle, faintly, but she ignored it. Her fingers closed again, folding into her palm one by one, and the kitchen settled as the dark orb dissipated into nothingness. “All they wanted to do was use me, restrain me, trap me. So why would any part of me ever want to go back?”

“Home is still home,” Brick told her. “Everyone has a past, and you can leave the place, but you can’t make it leave you.”

The rations packet crinkled as she picked it up off the counter. “Everything I’ve done and I still don’t have any answers,” she murmured, and Brick wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or herself.

There were open shelves next to where he stood, and he took down the least battered bowl he could see and held it out for her. She looked at it, looked up at him, and the knit of her brows painted the jumble of her thoughts more clearly than words ever could.

Slowly she raised her hand again, tattoos glimmering across her knuckles as she twisted her elegant fingers, and tendrils of blue and purple and flat, voidlike black wrapped around the bowl in Brick’s hand until it was encased in a sphere of roiling energy. A few stray wisps brushed across his palm, feeling like ice and perfect stillness, and when he released his grip the bowl remained floating within the phaselock orb.

She guided it to the counter, the kettle whistling more intensely as the ball of dimensional energy drew closer, rattling against the stove. When she closed her fist, the bowl settled with barely a clatter.

“ _Fuck_ the monks,” she whispered, a bite of fury behind her teeth even as her lips smiled, and when she side-eyed him he grinned back.

“My sister taught me a little about cooking, when we were kids,” he said as she ripped the rations packet open, sorting through the interior packs and dumping several into the bowl. “I don’t remember much, but it can’t be that hard, right? We just gotta try until we get it right.”

She bit her lip, picking up the kettle and pouring the boiling water over the clutter of dehydrated rations. “As long as we don’t try to make skag steak,” she said, keeping her eyes on the steaming bowl.

Brick laughed again, deep in his chest - thunder on the distant horizon, the rumble of an oncoming storm. “Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Maya cause she's got teeth. I like Brick cause he's got heart. basically, I like characters that aren't what they seem to be.
> 
> also, I think the rations packets you see lying around in-game that just say MEAL on them are hilarious. skag probably does taste terrible, based on their diet.
> 
> I am still fighting with writing the last chapter (seriously I don't know why it's being such a problem), but I've got one more completed chapter left to post before that. and when this is complete, I've got two more separate pieces to post, and then it's back to writing original fiction because that was the deal I made with myself when I started this little project. I've still got a fourth half-finished experimental bit to work on when I need a break from the original stuff, but who knows when that'll be done. so yeah, two more chapters of this, one long standalone, one short standalone. kinda sad to be wrapping it all up, really. I like writing Borderlands.
> 
> next chapter is squishy as hell, but I think most people will like it. I sure do.


	8. skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when words fail, body language prevails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love Krieg. good god do I love Krieg. in all the ways. I would consider him my main in Borderlands 2, and I am super weak to that whole cliche "crazy person with rational inner voice" thing, sue me.
> 
> I like to think that all my Borderlands fics take place in a single continuity, but since this chapter conflicts with my other piece [and she will save you but she cannot love you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1572443), I have decided that one takes place in an alternate continuity where everything is sad and no one is happy, ever. that piece does, however, more clearly lay out my headcanons regarding Krieg - not really relevant to this chapter, but it's there if you're curious.

The coarse fabric of his pant leg brushed against her calf and she giggled, pressing her leg closer and burying her toes under his thighs to escape the tickling sensation. A large hand touched her knee, lightly tracing the tattoos that ran down the outside of her leg.

Maya flinched away, laughing. “Krieg, _please_ ,” she scolded. “Stop that.”

It was hard to read his expression when all she could see of his face was one eye, but when the hand continued its motions she knew he was messing with her. “Stop!”

They were reclining on her bunk, barefoot and sitting face to face with their legs tangled together. He was naked from the waist up and she from the waist down, clad only in her bodysuit, and a blanket was thrown haphazardly over their combined laps; Sanctuary was hovering over the Southern Shelf, and it was cold outside. The room was warm enough, but the blanket was cozy, even if they couldn’t be compelled to actually keep their limbs underneath it.

Maya brushed her hair, still slightly damp from the shower, back away from her cheek. “I’m trying to read, okay?” She wiggled the tablet in her hands, indicating it with a tilt of her head.

Krieg didn’t answer, but his other hand landed on her other leg, fingers curling around to probe at the tender spot at the back of her knee. She kicked out at him, laughing as he dodged her foot, and heard him chuckle in response.

“Okay, okay,” she said, giving up and setting the tablet aside. “What do you want?”

His hands felt huge as they wrapped around her calves, squeezing gently. “Nnnnothing,” he rumbled, ducking his head without taking his eye off her. Not for the first time, she wished she could look at his face without the mask, but he fought back every time she asked to and hadn’t yet managed to express why he wouldn’t - or couldn’t - remove it.

“Then why won’t you leave me alone?” she asked, indulgently, folding her hands in her lap. The metal of the bedframe pressed into her back as she reclined against it.

His head ducked lower, fingers digging into her skin as his back hunched. As he let out a great, shuddering breath, she saw that his shoulders were beginning to tremble.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” she said, leaning forward as far as she could, hands outstretched. “You don’t have to say.”

He leaned forward too, meeting her halfway, resting his masked chin in her palms. She stroked the pitted leather with her thumbs, feeling the way his jaw worked soundlessly against her hands.

He’d gotten better, so much better, but it wasn’t always easy. Often he’d get caught up between expressing himself and trying to not say the wrong thing, and he couldn’t always fight through the conflict. As much as she encouraged him, she also couldn’t bear to see him struggle, especially not when they were touching like this.

She bent her knees, bracing her elbows on them to better support the weight of his head, and he released her legs to wrap his hands around her forearms. Even when stripped of their gloves and wrappings, his hands were incredibly broad, and his grip swallowed her up. She didn’t mind, not in the least.

“Feel your skin,” he muttered, nestling his face deeper into her hands as he scooted closer, scrunching up the blanket. His single visible eye was closed.

“You just wanted to touch me?” The hands on her arms tightened, then relaxed. “That’s fine, just don’t tickle me. It’s distracting.” He huffed out another heavy breath, the sound muffled by the mask, and moved even closer.

“Feel _my_ skin,” he said, emphatically, and she smiled.

“That’s fine too, but just ask. You don’t have to bait me into it.” She kept her voice gentle and her hands firm, running her fingertips along the skin at the edge of his mask, skimming the cords of his throat.

He hummed, leaning into her touch, relaxed and pliable in her hands. He could be so strong, but for her he was always so soft, so gentle. She touched his shoulders, his head, light, dancing brushes that barely kissed his skin, and a growling purr curled out of his throat, vibrating beneath her fingertips.

She twisted her arms, breaking his grip on her wrists, and took his hands in hers. He pulled her in closer, reading her intentions, and she placed his hands on her shoulders where they settled, limp and heavy, like sleeping animals. She gently stroked along his upper arms, his chest, hooked her heels around his hips. When she dug her toes into the sheets, looking for warmth, he pressed his knees against hers, holding her in place.

She wrapped a hand around the back of his head and he came easily, nodding forward so that his masked brow bumped against hers and rested there. His eye was still closed, and Maya closed hers too, listening to the slow whine of his breath passing through the respirator. She couldn’t resist the urge to tickle his ribs, just a little, and his breathing hitched as he pulled her closer, the vast planes of his hands pressing into her shoulder blades.

“Warm like heartblood,” Krieg murmured, and Maya lifted a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“Thank you? I think?”

He rumbled in reply, a sound that was half-laugh, half growl, and she nestled closer, sliding her hands around his neck. She was far from cold-blooded, but he was a veritable furnace, the heat of him searing her wherever they touched - which was many places, now, as she was mostly in his lap, his ankles crossed at the small of her back.

She nuzzled her forehead against him. “So I’m gonna guess that this is what you were after the whole time, hm?” His hands sliding down to her waist, thumbs digging into the bare skin at her hips, was all the answer she needed. For a long moment they were still and quiet; she could feel his heart beating against her chest, rhythmic and steady.

When his shoulders began to tremble again she soothed him, rubbing circles into his back with her fingertips as his heart rate quickened, becoming erratic. “What’s wrong?”

He shuddered, his whole body quaking like he was going to come apart beneath her. “You care,” he choked out, like his mouth was full of stones.

“Of course I do.” She tightened the grip of her legs around him, pressed her bare cheek to his masked one. “Of course.”

“ _Only_ you,” he breathed, so quiet she could barely hear him over the rush of his own breath, and her chest knotted as he trembled again.

She held him as tightly as she could, digging her nails into his bare shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she whispered, kissing the leather that shielded his face. “Don’t be. Don’t.”

He growled - not at her, she could tell. “They-” He struggled, teeth clicking behind his mask, muffled even though her ear was pressed against it. “Don’t know.”

Maya cupped the back of his neck, tracing the shape of his vertebrae. “And they don’t care to find out,” she finished.

Krieg buried his face in the curve of her throat, respirator digging painfully into her shoulder, but she didn’t mind. “Then they don’t know what they’re missing,” she told him, stroking the back of his head, fingertips catching on the straps of his mask. “And I don’t want to share, anyways.”

He muttered something she couldn’t make out, between the mask and the respirator and her own flesh, but from the cadence she could tell it was nothing more than nonsense. It helped him clear his mind, she knew - the madness was like poison, and he could fight it all he wanted, but sometimes he just had to get it out.

Still, in the midst of his ramblings, like a gem unearthed from the coarse, dead dust of the planet beneath them, there was a single clear word - _mine_.

“Of course I’m yours,” she soothed, her body held so tightly to his that they might as well have been one. “I’m whatever you want. Whatever you say.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my thoughts regarding how exactly a relationship between Krieg and Maya would play out are difficult to express accurately in words (even with how many words we have to describe relationships nowadays wow), but it's a sort of nonsexual deep-level intimacy that relies heavily on Maya being a supporting force and guiding light. it's also sweet enough to make everyone puke, especially because in this continuity none of the other Vault Hunters really like or trust Krieg and only deal with him because of his mutual attachment to Maya.
> 
> I was going with a very tactile feeling with this chapter, cause writing physical contact can be hard. it also got sort of sad which I just cannot escape, I either write funny or sad and and literally nothing else oops.
> 
> work has been crazy (I usually write in a google doc during my boring 9-5 cause I'm an awesome employee), because the end of month/beginning of next month period means CRAZY OVERTIME HOURS and therefore I get no personal projects done. so it's been like a month and I still haven't finished the last chapter because it's two characters that are difficult to write and I haven't had the time to write through the difficulty. like, damn, I love Krieg, but he is REALLY hard to write. but I am determined to bang it out before the end of this week HAVE FAITH IN ME LOYAL READER(s).


	9. guy talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> even the most dangerous people in the darkest places have time for fun and games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this note is a dedicated shoutout to AO3 user CGAdam, because they took the time to read and comment on EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER of this tripe. who DOES that? they do, apparently, and I have to admit that I probably would have given up on this little endeavor if it hadn't been for the knowledge that someone was actively watching what I was doing and possibly waiting on the next installment.
> 
> so thanks, bro, for being an awesome community member and encouraging reader! it means a lot.
> 
> ON WITH THE SHOW

The wind swept up to the crest of the hill, ruffling Salvador’s beard, and he grinned, narrowing his eyes against the grit carried on the breeze. He felt like the king of the world up here - one foot planted on a stone in a captain’s pose, left hand in his pocket and the right gripping the strap of the assault rifle slung over his shoulder - the very picture of confidence and badassery. Or something like that.

It was a shit-ass planet to be king of, really, but it was home. Home and his, death and destruction and madness and all. He’d been born here, raised here, knew every beauty and ugliness of Pandora like he knew the battered, tattooed skin of his own knuckles. Its earth was ground into his skin; the air of it was the only thing that had ever filled his lungs. It was a harsh world, and he was a man harsh enough to be a match for it, built like a barrel and wearing a sun-stained shirt and workman’s jeans. A rough-hewn king for a feral land.

He sucked in a deep breath, savoring the clarity of the highland air - relative clarity, at least - then looked down and realized that the stone his foot was propped on was actually a skag skull. He kicked it away, grimacing as it skittered down the slope of the hill. You could romanticize it all you wanted it, but Pandora was still a shithole, even if it was _his_ shithole.

An off-tune humming drifted up from somewhere behind him, and he rolled his shoulders on reflex, neck cracking. Even when it wasn’t producing actual words - which was a blessing - that voice was still familiar, and Salvador would be lying if he said it didn’t put him a little on edge. Reluctant to bare his back to the new arrival, he turned to offer a greeting.

“Heya, what’s up? Thought you went out with the others. Where’s Maya?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to call Krieg “friend,” but he did his best to imply it in his tone. He might have a total lack of fondness for the psycho, but figured it was better to stay on his good side than any of his other ones.

Krieg was a giant, tall and lean to the point of being stretched, the bright orange of his clothing standing out starkly against the green highland grass. “The blue girl has burning stars in her eyes!” he rasped, not even breaking stride as he passed Salvador by, moving down the other side of the hill.

“Right, okay.” Better than ninety percent of the shit that came out of the guy’s mouth was garbage, and Salvador wasn’t quite sure why he still tried. He watched as Krieg found the skag skull he’d kicked away and picked it up, tossing it from one enormous hand to the other as he made his way back up to the top of the hill.

“Really though. Thought I was the only one stayin’ back today. No one told me I’d have company.” The rest of the crew - Axton and Zero and Maya and Gaige - were out making a sweep of the hinterlands. Someone up on Helios was apparently dropping loader bots on Pandora, and the old guard had set them up on a mission to defend some of the more peaceful settlements in order to build some goodwill with the locals. Seeing as goodwill-building required a somewhat diplomatic touch, Salvador had opted to not go along before someone else had the opportunity to suggest it. Sure, he was missing out on what was probably a pretty good fight, but at least he didn’t have to be _nice_.

He’d thought that Krieg had gone along with the rest, but considering his own situation it made perfect sense that the psycho was still hanging around as well. Salvador scratched his stomach, scowling regretfully. Not only was he bored, he now had the biggest, weirdest member of the crew for company. He debated adding _most dangerous_ to the list, decided it was too close to call - every single one of his companions was dangerous in their own way - and settled for _unpredictable_ instead.

Krieg tossed the skull high into the air, his gaze following it as it arced across the dusty plane of Pandora’s sky and slapped neatly into his broad palm. “It’s turtle soup all the way down, love, and I’ve got a bone spoon and a mouth full of ashes!” he barked, gesturing expansively at the horizon, and Salvador couldn’t help snorting even as he shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“What, you miss lunch or somethin’?” he quipped, baring his teeth in Krieg’s general direction. “Or is that just your way of complimentin’ the view?” It really was a nice view; the highlands swept down and away dramatically into the hazy distance, spotted with sparkling gems of water and spines of naked stone. He could see little clusters of flickering blue light here and there against the green; packs of stalkers sending out sparks as they cloaked and uncloaked their lithe, reptilian bodies.

Stalkers were probably Salvador’s least favorite thing in the world - the bandits had it right with their “INVISIBUL ASSHOLE” signs - and he checked his SDU to make sure that his static shotgun was easily accessible.

“The bowl is for the bloodbath!” Krieg shielded his eye with one monstrous hand. “It’s a hard world, for the little things, but we are colossal.”

“Fuckin’ got that right,” Salvador grunted.

Krieg was still holding the skag skull, and he weighed it thoughtfully in his palm as he gazed out at the highlands and shifted his stance. He tossed it into the air, and in one fluid motion drew the buzz axe off his back and swung it like a baseball bat. The flat of the blade hit the falling skull with a resounding _crack_ , and it rocketed into the distance, still in one piece. Skag skulls were titanium hard, and apparently fairly aerodynamic.

“Home fuckin’ run!” Salvador shouted, taken aback but still laughing as the skull disappeared behind a ridge of stone. “Helluva swing you got there, _mierda_! You play in the interstellar leagues, or somethin’?”

“You’re murdering me, smalls!” Krieg bellowed, dropping his axe to the ground. He wandered off a few feet, picking up various rocks and debris, discarding them with violent shakes of his head. Salvador watched him curiously. He’d always be wary around the big psycho, even though he had gotten a lot better under Maya’s watchful eye. She was a tough girl, tolerating no nonsense and giving no quarter.

The whole crew was tough. Ironclad, even. Maybe they hadn’t been raised in a place where every beauty disguised a danger and every blemish advertised exactly what you might expect, but they’d seen their fair share of shit and it showed. Salvador rolled his shoulders. He could probably afford to be a little less hard on them - Pandora got down to your bones quick, and it stayed there. Local seniority didn’t mean crap when only the strong survive for longer than an hour.

Krieg returned to the crest of the hill with an armful of skulls and another barrage of verbal garbage - “A basket of hand eggs for the screaming crowds!” He dropped his burden haphazardly to the ground, then spent several minutes stacking the skulls into a neat pyramid. Salvador kept the corner of one eye on him, scanning the horizon with the other. He realized he had no idea how long Krieg had actually been on Pandora. The prison garb and crazy bullshit indicated that he’d come down with the Dahl prisoners, which had been years and years ago, a memory verging on distant. For all Salvador knew, Krieg predated the arrival of the old guard - and wouldn’t that be something, if it was true.

After his arrangement was complete, an almost delicate architecture of empty eye sockets and crooked fangs, Kreig rose to his full height with his axe propped against his shoulder. He plucked the top skull from the pile and gave it a couple of experimental tosses before throwing it into the air and swinging. Another _crack_ echoed across the highlands, and Salvador whistled as the skull flew into the sky.

Krieg hit a few more makeshift balls. The stalker skulls didn’t hold up as well to the rough treatment, shattering into a mess of bone shards and dislodged fangs, but he hit them anyway, laughing gutturally as the fragments pattered into the grass. The skag skulls fared better, each one flying farther than the last as Salvador shouted encouragement.

“VUVUZELA NOISES!” Krieg howled, shielding his eyes to watch the skull he’d just hit plop into a distant pond with a barely-visible splash.

Salvador rolled his eyes. “Wrong sport, _amigo_.”

“I am the champion! Boom boom clap!” Krieg smacked his meaty palm against his thigh before stooping to pick up another skull. “This one’s for my mother; I hope she can see it in hell!”

“Oy, that’s no way to talk about your _mamá_.” Salvador couldn’t help the grin he was wearing. It was obvious that Krieg wasn’t listening to a damn thing he was saying, but the banter was fun all the same. He took his entertainment where and while he could get it, because it couldn’t always be guaranteed to last.

The skull in Krieg’s hand was enormous and lopsided, the last remnant of some battle-scarred alpha skag, and when the flat of Krieg’s blade made contact it tumbled off to the side instead of flying straight into the distance. “BETRAYER!” Krieg shrieked, pointing his axe at the airborne skull.

“I think that’s what they call a foul ball,” Salvador told him, right before an angry, feral screeching reached his ears. “ _Joder_ ,” he growled, spinning on his heel to face the source of the noise.

“Joder!” Krieg mimicked. The skull had landed on the fringes of the nearest stalker colony, and the creatures looked pissed. Pissed as hell and coming this way, flickering in and out of visibility as they darted across the landscape.

Salvador reached for his SDU, but Krieg was already on the move, shifting his buzz axe into a more combative grip as he loped towards the oncoming stalkers. Salvador bared his teeth, tucking the assault rifle he’d been carrying over his shoulder under his arm as he broke out his static shotgun with his free hand. “You let me know if it gets too hot for you, _amigo_!” he yelled, firmly lodging the butt of the shotgun into his armpit.

Krieg, who’d been picking up speed as he moved, met the lead stalker with a furious upswing that caught the half-cloaked creature under the jaw and sent it sprawling, shrieking with fury even as Krieg loosed a snarling battle cry. “Whatever you saaaaayyyyyyyy!” he howled, wading into the fray in a flurry of gore and sparks.

Salvador frowned. “Why does everybody keep sayin’ that lately?” he asked aloud, then hefted his guns with a shrug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's it that's the joke ha ha ha I'm garbage. it took me like...three weeks to post this final installment, because work has been nuts and I really wasn't happy with how this last bit was coming out, but I think it wound up okay in the end. I have no clue where all the baseball shit came from but it gave Krieg more things to shout about, so that was good. I love Krieg but writing all his gibberish can be a struggle.
> 
> if I royally hecked up Salvador's Spanish let me know because as mentioned in the first chapter, I know zero Spanish but continue to make bad decisions anyways. I'll probably try to do a sweeping round of edits on all the chapters at some point in the future, just for cleanup, but right now I'm happy it's done.
> 
> so this is a thank you to everyone who took the time to read this. I've never been so aware of my audience before and it really makes me appreciate the people who take the time out of their day (for whatever reason) to experience the things I've made and it's like...whoa. people are looking at the thing I do! so yeah, thank you! VUVUZELA NOISES!


End file.
